The Treason of Men
by Shauna1
Summary: A patchwork portrayal of Boromir.


The Treason of Men  
a patchwork portrayal of Boromir  
  
by Shauna  
  
***  
  
It was with some hesitance that Boromir followed Aragorn down the winding, rocky path. Isildur's heir walked like a Ranger or a tracker or an elf, his feet brushing lightly over the stone where Boromir's found scant purchase. As he struggled down after, he thought that it was telling to see Aragorn walk near Legolas. They stepped with the same cautious quickness, their bodies held up and alert with ease. Although not even Aragorn could feign to walk with the grace of an elf, let alone an elf prince, nor could he pass so swift through the trees... Even Boromir who knew so little of the Fair Folk could tell from their movements which was elf-trained, and which elf-born.  
  
Although he was not as wise as his brother was, or as the wizard Gandalf was, or even as keen as most among his party, and though his attention was mostly upon where he stepped, Boromir noted all this in but a glance.  
  
'For the blood of Numenor flows yet strong in my veins. For there is more to power than just mastery of hard earth. For daily I grow to love him more, and regard him as a brother and king, and I would know all of his ways.'  
  
'And yet... I would also sigh in worry of this faint unease that lies within me, were I not loathe to alert the keen ears of the elf. I would with a great heave expel my worry, and be glad to be gotten rid of it. But worry often comes with cause.'  
  
The worry Boromir dwelt upon was different from the many cares he'd carried so far along the journey. Concern for the little folks, a silent fear of the approaching darkness, sorrow for the wizard who fell. But this was a sinking, doubting feeling, as Aragorn led the group towards Mordor.   
  
***  
  
"Anduin, still, we go over at will,  
it's an ocean, if it's a creek!  
but as of yet, I don't like to get wet,  
so we certainly won't go beneath!"  
  
Frodo ceased his rhythmic clapping as Sam ended his song, which he had composed during one too many "dull" conversations in which "the big people" decided on the right route to take.  
  
Boromir let out a great laugh and leaned over to tussle the hobbits' hair. Sam blushed at the hearty praise, but Frodo stiffened and drew away. Boromir dropped his hand and tried to make light of it, but Sam watched his master with concern, and turned a wary eye at the man. Apparently he didn't understand Frodo's distrust, but would follow him anyway.  
  
"I'm sorry, but I'm so weary," Frodo begged off, at once disapearing into the darkness. Boromir thought that he might be heading towards where Aragorn sat talking to the elf, if his ears measured rightly. Then again, he could not be sure.  
  
He frowned a bit in aggravation. He had nothing but love for the hobbits, who had turned out to be as innocent and jovial as children, with a sharper wit and the ability to be serious at need. Especially Merry and Pippin, who heard of his exploits with as much glee as they did the others'. Sam, it had to be held, would most rather go to Legolas for tales, but Frodo sought out Aragorn, and not for such trivial things as histories and rhymes. Boromir's frown deepened, but when he saw Sam still looked at him, he rose and walked away.  
  
***  
  
Another brief, harsh argument had been abruptly finished, and Aragorn, Gimli and Boromir each went their seperate ways. Legolas had been distracting Frodo - he hurried off to join the Ranger. Gimli sat down and sulked, pulling at his beard. Boromir wandered by himself on the outskirts of the camp.  
  
Perhaps with the guidance of the wizard, the ring might be destroyed, but not even the hidden heir could lead the party to Mount Doom. It was folly indeed. And though it had been the intention of Gandalf to destroy the ring, Boromir felt he did not always counsel rightly.  
  
Yes, though he had grown to like Gandalf and had been sorely grieved at his death, he did not believe as the others did that the wizard could do no wrong. And he thought that he knew the wizard far better than the hobbits or the dwarf, and maybe even Legolas who called him Mithrandir, better then all save Aragorn. For had Gandalf spent much time with his brother, and Boromir knew of him both from Faramir's loving descriptions and the admonitions of Denethor. So he saw that the he was good of intentions and often wise, but not infalliable, and Boromir's love was not so great for him that he would follow blindly his will when even that will had fallen into the abyss with him and passed into doubt and shadow.  
  
***  
  
For an hour they waited, idle, while Legolas scouted ahead. Boromir and Aragorn practiced with their swords. Gleaming was the metal, but moreso Aragorn's hard skin, slick with sweat and reflected sunlight.  
  
Could he really match the heir's power? Did he really want to try?  
  
Parry. Swerve. Thrust.  
  
***  
  
Many hours they walked each day, and for many days, and ever his mind dwelt upon the Ring. When he could force his mind from it, he thought of Gondor, and his brother Faramir, and the land's defense.  
  
He remembered that Gandalf spoke like Faramir, and thought that if the old wizard was still there he might be able to relieve his worried musings. But instead he was left to call up what little wisdom they had given him, or find some all his own.  
  
'What could I do with the ring in Gondor?' he thought, and he had to admit he did not know. 'Being invisible is one thing, but it will not help overmuch. That is the only power that has been told of to me. What do they hide? What do they keep secret that might save us? Something so powerful... and yet they want to destroy it! Cast it away forever? No, that is not true. It cannot be. The wizard, maybe, had enough power not to want it, and the hobbits too little to desire any more. And I know little of the ways of dwarves and elves. They might all be true in their hearts. But I know the race of men! And no man would cast away such as might save their very home. He *cannot* be taking it to the mountain to be destroyed.'  
  
Here Borimir glanced around the Company to see if anyone was reading the thoughts from his face. Aragorn headed the party, and was too busy on watch to pay much attention to anything else. Legolas followed behind, and was silent as well, and turned his head from side to side to stare into the distance. But Gimli was singing a song of dwarven caves to the hobbits who laughed excitedly and cheered him on. Only Frodo of the little people did not wear a smile - instead his face was pinched in a pensive frown, his thoughts only inwards. Boromir turned his gaze to Aragorn again.  
  
'He cannot be taking it to that fell mountain. But we draw closer every day. He is not fool, he knows we will have no success. He knows we will be instead delivered to the hands of Sauron.' Even Boromir gasped at the thought, but it did not leave him, as he followed the company down the sloping hills.  
  
***  
  
"We must destroy the ring," said Frodo firmly.  
  
'Halfling and child!' thought Boromir. 'Who are you to chose our destination? Who are you to hold against your chest the future of dwarves, elves and men?' He let his dark thoughts wander in a corner of his mind, for none were looking at him now, and all at Aragorn.  
  
"The question is how," mused the Ranger.  
  
"It is an impossible task!" hissed Boromir, then calmed himself. "Perhaps then we may consider - just consider! - the possibility that we were not meant to destroy the Ring?"  
  
But the others only shook their heads, just as they had yesterday.  
  
***  
  
It had been a mere question, burning all the more in his breast for its simplicity.  
  
Legolas looked at him gravely. "I am afraid I cannot."  
  
Boromir pushed down whatever disapointment and insult he might have felt. "It was merely an offer. I know that elves take pleasure either way, and I thought that it might ease our weariness."  
  
Legolas hesitated before saying, "I have not been... weary."  
  
Boromir looked at him sharply, but resisted the urge to glance around the camp. "Still, I would prefer if this remained - " his voice cracked and he paused before continuing calmly, " between us. Such preferences are not embraced in Gondor."  
  
Legolas smiled lightly in understanding, though what empathy he could have was beyond Boromir. "I will keep silent, my friend. And," he added, his voice soft out of either kindness or hesitance, "I would have been honored to share your bed, had things been different."  
  
Boromir attempted a modest grin in reply, but Legolas seemed to strip the pretense aside with his eyes and see his hurt. Again his expression was deepened by a sense of kinship so odd that Boromir could not stop himself from saying in a rush, "What happened to you that you understand me so well?"  
  
"It's not what has happened. It's what will," he said, a look of pain coming upon his face. It passed quickly, and instead curiosity followed as though he disagreed with Boromir's last statement. "I should like to talk some more with you, Boromir, but my watch has ended, and I would have some rest."  
  
With that he walked to his bed and slipped gracefully into it, and seemed immediately asleep. Unlike other nights, he did not sing to himself as he fell into elven dreams.  
  
Boromir thought deeply that night as he kept his watch, wondering that Legolas was at once so gracious in his rejection yet anxious to get away. He knew he did not have the elf's affections, nor his trust.  
  
'I am feeling stung by his refusal of my bed.' He thought to himself, and it seemed reasonable. For few had ever turned down the future steward of Gondor. But what if he had been passed by not for some flaw of his body, but for a flaw of his heart? Elves had wisdom and sight into the minds of men... what did Legolas see?  
  
Not what he saw in Aragorn, whom he followed without hesitation. And then Boromir was again overtaken with a great jealousy for the Ranger, founded not merely in his friendship with the elven people or even his place as Isildur's heir. Boromir was utterly cold, though his envy was hot.  
  
"Please," he whispered to the glittering sky, "give me some wisdom that will get me through this? Some strength?"  
  
But none he recieved, and when his watch ended he went to his bed bitten by the wind and strengthened by a power much closer than the stars.  
  
***  
  
'The king! He sees me! He sees my heart. And he would take it, as he has my crown, and destroy it, like he will destroy the ring.'  
  
Pain, fear, flashing darkness. He clawed at his sleeping sack. Tried to breathe.  
  
'The ring...'  
  
Strange that such certainty could be forgotten in a moment, but as Boromir woke, he felt only the vaguely unpleasant. He rubbed at his finger, which being bare seemed somewhat amiss.  
  
***  
  
Aragorn and Boromir sat by the next night's fire, when everyone else was off or sleeping.   
  
"There is a shadow everywhere, it seems," Aragorn said, continuing their conversation.  
  
"Is there something more that troubles the elf?" Boromir asked.  
  
Aragorn looked surprised by his words, but not reticent. Indeed, he was glad to be able to share something with the only other man on the trip, even if it were a sorrowful thing  
  
"It is not my place to speak of Legolas' personal grief, but I will pass on to you some common knowledge of elves. It is said that the Valar Ulmo, before men walked the earth, put in the heart of every elf a longing for the sea. And in the end, every elf will go to it, and beyond it, and every elf does fear the leaving. For so long as they dwell in their fields and forests and mountains, they love Arda with a passion as fierce as its fires, and an endurance as long as the many ages they and their kin have lived. To the Sindar, especially, leaving is a thing as incomprehensible as our deaths, and yet they know that at last leave they will. And Legolas is the Prince of Mirkwood, and has much to lose."  
  
'The Mirkwood is not only he fears to lose' Boromir mused, tucking away the observation in his mind for future use. Then he paused in his thoughts, aghast, remembering the elf's sad and beautiful eyes. Legolas had not endeared himself to Boromir with his rejection, but to use so dear a thing against him?  
  
Aragorn still looked at the fire, once in a while brushing more sand over it to dampen its glow.   
  
***  
  
Once more along the river, each bearing a gift, though for some the greatest gift was a memory of the lady left behind. To Boromir his belt of gold was an unwanted wonder, just as was her parting song. Sweet and threatening, it seemed, though he knew not the words, but one phrase remained upon his lips, 'ar ilye tier undulave lumbule'.  
  
What unknowable prophecy spoke she?  
  
He only knew, only wanted Gondor.  
  
***  
  
They rose, tall and majestic, crowns piercing the sky, looking outward and onward with such great gaze that they must see all of Middle Earth, and understand all the fell doings upon it. So Boromir thought, and then choked back a cry, for even though they looked above him, they also seemed to look at him. With displeasure, with dissapointment, with disgust. Boromir began to shift and sweat where he sat, and it seemed to him that the statues were laughing cruelly.  
  
At once the spell was broken, and he stilled himself, and told himself that it was but a trick of the eyes. Beside him, his companions began to stir as well. They said nothing, and Boromir was glad when they passed, although it seemed to him that there was another king as distant and horrible as the statutes now drifting down the river beside him.  
  
***  
  
He had said it. Gondor would not fall. Each arrow was an agony. And... a redemption.  
  
*** 


End file.
